Bad Intentions
by Sinead Rivka
Summary: .:Beast Machines:. Megatron never gave on his cloning attempts. And he never really cared what the Maximals ever made of them, either. Flames accepted and laughed at.
1. A Past Reveals Its Secrets

Bad Intentions

By: Sinead (Raptrana )

Part One:

A Past Reveals Its Secrets

Rattrap screamed, waking up. Optimus ran into the room to find his comrade huddled into a ball, shaking and whimpering, on the floor.

"Rattrap?" he asked, walking closer, disbelieving what his eyes were telling him.

Rattrap didn't move out of the position he was in. Nightscream and Botanica had started to run in the direction of the scream as well, but stopped at the door. Optimus crouched by Rattrap, placing his hand on the rat's back. "Whatever it was, Rattrap, it was a dream."

That made him look up. "It wasn't."

Optimus nodded. "Then tell me what it was, old friend."

"Memories," Rattrap replied, burying his head back into his arms again.

Optimus looked over his shoulder at Botanica and Nightscream, sighing . . .

Rattrap awoke late the next morning, knowing, _remembering_, things that he knew he had not known the previous day. He knew that the others had forgotten them as well.

Or they were erased.

He remembered the beginning of the Beast Wars, in full detail. He remembered how it started, and how the events all led into each other, including the overlapping plots that Megatron had attempted. He remembered everything up to the Quantum surge, to tell the truth. He remembered Tigatron. He remembered Airazor.

He remembered Dinobot.

Cheetor was looking up at the Oracle, thinking about how it affected all of them. Silverbolt walked up to the cheetah, then sat next to him with a resigned sigh. "What was the deal with Rattrap last night?"

Cheetor shrugged. "Dunno. Optimus was woken up by it, and Nightscream and Botanica were the ones on shift." He shifted slightly, then added a little guiltily, "I kinda slept through it. I had a long patrol yesterday."

Silverbolt nodded as one of the Maximals they were talking about walked over to them. The young bat sat wearily next to Silverbolt. "If I ever have to take a double shift again, I'm going to kill whoever I'm taking it over for, wether a veteran or not."

Cheetor shrugged. "There's really nothing that you can do about something like that. Trust me. _I_ was the one who was placed under those conditions most of the time, having been the youngest for nearly four years."

Silverbolt chuckled, something that Nightscream had never heard or seen him do before. Cheetor, himself, was surprised, as Silverbolt was now someone who acted almost like . . . like . . . like some half-forgotten person . . . whose name and personality were shadowed . . .

Rattrap walked into the Oracle's cavern, his tail dragging more dismally than usual. Nightscream was about to deliver some snide remark or another about having to take over his shift, when Silverbolt covered his mouth. "Not now. He needs friends, not enemies, at this point."

Having being forcibly repressed, Nightscream decided to take the elder Maximal's advice. Cheetor stood and walked over the Rattrap, falling into step with him. "Hey, Rat-Breath. What's wrong?"

Rattrap looked up mournfully. "'Ya don't remembuh dem, do 'ya?"

Cheetor frowned. "Remember who?"

"Everyone from da Beast Wars, who aren't with us."

Cheetor closed his eyes momentarily, earnestly delving into those shaded memories that were half-buried, wishing that he could satisfy his friend by acknowledging that he did. With an apologetic glance, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. Only shadows of who they were. Nothing more than a simple glance. No names, no faces. Just a snippet of each personality."

Rattrap nodded. "Da Spider-Lady don't, either."

Cheetor stopped, and Rattrap turned to face him. "'Ya don't even remembuh Tigatron, do 'ya? Stripes? Airazuh, even? You two were like siblings. She was like 'ya older sistuh. What 'bout Depth Charge? Dat obsessive manta ray?"

Cheetor's face lit up, glad to be able to help Rattrap that much. "That's one name and face I remember clearly. Him, and his desire to get rid of Rampage, if that was his name."

Rattrap hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Y-yeah. Dat was it. Looks like you remember a few more things about him den I do."

Cheetor kneeled, putting his hand on Rattrap's shoulder. "I'm so sorry that I can't remember more, Rattrap. If I was able to tear down those walls around my memory, I would in an instant."

"What _I_ want to know," Silverbolt's voice asked, as he walked over, "is why _you_ are remember things, that at the moment we brush off as stories."

Rattrap shrugged, shaking his head. Nightscream also walked over, but said nothing, not knowing what _to_ say. Rattrap looked mournfully at the young Maximal, who took Cheetor's place as youngest, and said, "Feel lucky, Kiddo, dat you remembuh 'ya past as well as 'ya do."

Nightscream nodded, as a howl pierced the silence. Cheetor frowned, as Nightscream winced. "Noble's back around."

Blackarachnia ran up to them, and stood, catching her breath next to Cheetor and Silverbolt. "He's . . . on the other side of . . . that door . . . over there. Can't get through . . . and he's not happy about it."

Nightscream nodded, and Rattrap frowned, feeling another memory start to bubble to the surface.

But he didn't want to remember that . . . that encounter.

Cheetor looked down to where Rattrap was, then looked behind him, to see the small Maximal walking slowly off. He was about to follow him, but Silverbolt caught his arm, shaking his head. "Optimus will find him. We have to deal with Noble."

Cheetor nodded, looking back at the door . . .

Rattrap was balled up as tightly as he could . . .

"_Tell my story to those who ask, the good with the bad, and let it be judged accordingly . . ."_

"Why didja hafta do dat? Why?" he whispered into his synthetic fur, letting himself sob anew over the loss of his friend.

A shadowed figure walked into the small room silently, watching Rattrap. It knelt down to touch his shoulder, and the rat looked up, jumping, demanding, "Dinobot?!"

The hand pulled back, and the figure shifted, to let some light in. Rattrap shuddered, and his head sank, once he saw that it was his leader. "Optimus."

Optimus bowed his head, saying, "You remember more about the Beast Wars than the rest of us do. We remember only small parts, while you can fluidly remember maybe half of it."

Rattrap nodded, not looking at Optimus. "I remember everyone dat passed through dat slaggin' war, an' I know how dey came, an' . . . an' how dey left."

The weary leader sighed, sitting next to his friend. "How long ago did it start?"

"Three years . . . mebbe four. By human standards. Cheets knows how long the Wars were. Not me."

"Rattrap," Optimus started. He shook his head, stopping himself from asking what he wanted to. "Nevermind. I'll ask you later. Will you be okay?"

Rattrap nodded, after faltering over his thoughts. "Yeah."

"Then you might as well rest. Nightscream's not happy about taking your shift over, and you're used to doing those type of shifts. I'll see you in an hour or two."

Rattrap nodded, as Optimus left him, identifying in his mind each and every Beast Warrior, determined not to forget one detail, however insignificant . . .

Megatron consulted Thrust.

"Are you sure that it's complete?"

"Yeah, I am. Do 'ya think that I would do somethin' wrong?"

Megatron's digital face frowned. "No. I have the Spark, and once I see that you as well as the other two have done it correctly, I will hand it over to you."

Thrust grinned evilly, and left to retrieve what it was they were completing . . .


	2. Chapter Two

Bad Intentions

By: Sinead (Raptrana )

Part Two:

In Order to Reveal Its Inhabitants

Strika and Obsidian followed Thrust to Megatron, not trusting either the Vehicon general or their leader's goals. They knew that if they stayed with Optimus, though, Megatron would have hunted them down and killed them brutally for becoming traitors.

"Ah, good, you've listened to me."

"Is there any other option?" Obsidian replied. Megatron decided to ignore the false tone in his voice.

"Well, of course there is!" he replied carelessly, as if it were natural for them to know this information. "Obliteration."

Obsidian remained impassive. Strika shook her head, saying, "Well? What's the deal with the machine?"

"How resourceful of you to mention that, my dear Strika," Megatron replied. The female general barely kept herself from sneering at his comment. "A cloning machine. During the Beast Wars, I had dabbled in this art, and only now, I recognize what I have been doing wrong, yess. I need the _original_ Spark, in order to re-create the clone. As I will now demonstrate."

Obsidian frowned, looking away. Megatron saw this, reprimanding him. "Obsidian, I created you, therefore I have the power to terminate your existence. I will have none of your insolence, understand?"

"Fine. As you say, Megatron."

Megatron glowered at his general, yet didn't dignify the snippy response with an answer.

The Spark floated gracefully into the device, as Thrust inserted the DNA scans. Strika was against the whole cloning deal. Drones, mindless machines, with no will of their own, was fine, as they needed their assistance, in order to operate. But this . . . _this_ was horrendous! She vowed silently to herself, that she would do everything in her power to help this poor creature, whoever he may be . . .

_Where am I? Is this the Matrix? I'm supposed to be there, I'm sure of it. But . . . this isn't anything like what anyone's described it to be. Hn . . . I winder what's going on? Who's that talking? Ah. He's talking to me, to see if I'm fully on-line. . . . Wait. . . . His voice is familiar . . . too familiar . . . I know it from somewhere, but from where? No! **No!** This can't be happening! But . . . it is. That idiot._

Strika watched the tall Cybertronian walk forth, seeming to be dull, witless. She sighed, relieved that she wouldn't have to work hard in order to rescue him, to set him free. Then, she recognized something: he had a beast mode! It showed, by the strange animal's head on his chest, and the way his arms were built.

Suddenly, as if struck my lightning, the bot's optics sparked to life, intelligence lighting them to new depths. Strika began to doubt herself, until she saw the bot's next actions.

He leapt away from Megatron, snarling. "You FOOL! Why did you bring me back, you _idiot_?!"

"Ah, my dear old friend, because I have need to."

"Friend?" he snarled. "Once, if you could consider your tyranny a friendship! I was finally free from you, and now I have to fight you over again!"

"You?" Thrust sniggered. "Fight Megatron? Ooh, this I _gotta_ see!"

"Who the Pit are you?" he wondered out loud. Shaking his head, he answered himself. "That doesn't matter."

He grinned evilly up at the general, causing him to slink back against the wall, memories resurfacing reluctantly, as his former personality bubbled to the surface. He moaned, holding his head, and rocking back and forth. Strika and Obsidian shared a glance, then looked to Megatron, who was watching the new bot calmly. "Come, come, now. You're a Predacon! Again."

Turning, the bot left the room, replying, "I never was a Predacon, Megatron. Never."

With a look, Megatron sent the remaining two generals after the bot. Once they were gone, he looked to Thrust. "Get up, you blubbering fool."

"But . . . but that was . . ."

"Of course it was. Do you think that I didn't notice? I thought I had washed his memory of the Wars!"

"Didn't work," the mis-placed voice replied out of Thrust's vocal circuit. "Not work. He scrap–"

Megatron shut out the general's whining, and let his consciousness retreat into himself, trying to remember how _exactly_ he had gone wrong . . .

Rattrap looked up at the Oracle, murmuring half to himself, half to the mystic piece of technology. "Why are 'ya restoring _my_ memories, and not da others? What am I gonna do with dem, eh? Am I gonna hafta explain everythin' to dem? I ain't gonna do it, if dat's what you want. So what's it gonna be? Eh? Huh. Whatever."

He was about to drop to his beast self, and find some quiet corner, and reminisce about the past, when he felt someone . . . or some_thing_ watching him. He turned slowly on his wheels, silently cursing his handicapped body for not providing him with weapons. His eyes scanned around, but he saw nothing. Flipping the small visor forward, he scanned for the body heat given off. And he found it.

He shook his head, the visor flipping up, as if he saw nothing, and he sighed, turning his back on whoever was watching him. Ahead, Cheetor was walking up, and he discreetly motioned for him to keep quiet, as he rolled up to him. "Kid, dere's somethin' over dere, by da main entrance. I dunno what it is, but it ain't Noble, far as I can tell."

Cheetor nodded. "Yeah. You want me to do something?"

Rattrap nodded. "Do back out, an' around. Come up behind 'im, an' I'll trap 'im from the front."

"You sure that'll work?"

Rattrap grinned. "It's an old trick, sure, but it'll work."

The younger Maximal shrugged, nodding, and ambled back out, as if nothing was going on . . .

The cloned bot watched with amazement at the device in front of him. He knew that is was what he thought it was, but he didn't believe it. As he looked at it, he saw a short creature at the base of it. It turned, and he got the impression of a wheeled creature with a tail. It looked around, but the bot made sure he was hidden. As soon as he made sure that it was looking elsewhere, he crept to another spot, and saw some sort of mask or helmet slide forward, concealing his face, as he looked around again. Flipping it up, he shook his head, turning slowly away, to greet another bot, that shared some basic traits. It nodded, and strode out confidently, yet the bot had the impression that he was sauntering. A watch, and a second warrior to check up and see if anything had happened during the watch.

He sighed, and looked back at the device, wondering what it _really_ did . . .

Cheetor saw the shadowed bot ahead of him, but between them, he saw Strika and Obsidian. He grinned, ready for some Vehicon-bashing. Optimus joined him, and they advanced silently. At the last moment, they tapped the generals' shoulders, causing them to turn right in time to be knocked out by direct punches to their faces.

Turning, the cloned bot saw the generals fall, and behind them, two other bots. He froze, and then recognized one of them as the one who was up by the Oracle. Maybe he wouldn't have to scrap them.

Then the skinny one laced his fingers together, and cracked them, pushing outward. And spoke. "Yep. All in a day's work. And you? In the shadows? Don't 'ya know that it's rude to spy? Well?"

The Bot was trembling, as he walked out of the shadows. "Cheetor? That's you, isn't it?"

Cheetor looked at the bot strangely. "Yeah. And? Who are you?"

The bot's face registered his shock. "It's me . . ."

But before he could reply, he heard a muffled screech, and he found himself on his back, staring up at the first bot he saw. He was glaring into his face, but the clone whispered, "Rattrap . . ."

Rattrap backed off, and smiled for the first time Optimus had seen him in days. "So. 'Ya didn't go to da Matrix, eh?"

The clone snorted. "Well, if you continue suffocating me with your stench I _just_ might pass into said realm. But . . . why doesn't Cheetor remember me?"

Rattrap shook his head, hopping off of the Maximal's chest. "Our memories were partially erased. Don't blame da kiddo, but maybe some of your ol' nick-names might bring back some memories."

Optimus held his hand out, and the bot took it, letting himself be helped up. The Maximal leader smiled, and replied, "Welcome back . . ."

"Dinobot," Rattrap finished, grinning, and tackling him again, trading old insults . . .


End file.
